Saturday, September 9

We have arrived back from collecting logs and the sheep watch us dispassionately. They pay attention when they mistakenly think I might have leaves or branches in my hands, but turn back to munching grass when it appears almost certain that I haven’t.

I photograph the one that pays most attention to me – while it still pays some attention to me.

On the drive home some definite plans will form in small cartoon thought balloons over our heads. We will realise that we might possibly have decided what to do.